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She pushed that thought away as she urged him onto the bed. He sat and watched her under hooded eyes, waiting for her next move.
She dropped to her knees and began to unlace his moccasins. He made to lift her up.
She looked at him. “Please.”
His hands dropped.
The laces were made of some type of leather, and she bent over them, concentrating on discovering how they worked. She was aware, though, of his legs before her and her supplicant position. The pose was humble and at the same time erotic.
The first moccasin came off, and she started on the next. He stroked her hair as she worked, silent, never commenting, and she wondered what he thought of this. Yesterday he’d been so angry. She looked up and saw only need in his eyes.
He bent and kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, holding her head now with both hands, and she was lost, forgetting her purpose, forgetting what she wanted. She swayed and placed her hands on his thighs to steady herself as he arched her head back, feeding on her mouth. Oh, Lord, she wanted this man. He brought her forward, and she was enclosed, still kneeling between his thighs, hard and strong, on either side of her. And in front...She smoothed her palms up the leather covering his thighs until they inevitably met where the leather stopped and there was only fabric at the juncture of his legs. She gasped, her inhale lost in his kiss, for he was hard and straining already against his breeches. She cradled his length, tracing him through the cloth.
He caught her hands.
She broke the kiss and glanced up at him. “Let me.”
His face was dark, flushed from passion, and he looked in no mood to concede her anything.
“Please,” she whispered.
He opened his hands, spreading them palms up on his thighs in a gesture of acquiescence. She squeezed him gently through the fabric and then let go to work on opening the flap of his breeches. She peeled back the cloth and fumbled with his smallclothes until she found him, ruddy and proud underneath. The hair surrounding his cock was almost black, a shockingly private sight. This should only be for her, she knew on a primitive level. This man, this sight, this penis was hers.
as conscious of how foolish his actions were—to sneak into the garden of the woman who’d rejected him. He was embarrassed and angry because he was embarrassed. Soon he would need to return home and ready himself for supper with Rebecca, but he lingered a little longer, gazing at her house, his heart aching as it pounded a silent beat: if only...if only...if only...
He closed his eyes, coming to a decision. He couldn’t leave it like this. He had to speak to her. But now was not the time. For what he wanted, he’d have to wait for nightfall. So he glanced again at that window and then turned and left the garden. He would bide his time. He would wait patiently.
For the fall of night.
Chapter Seventeen
Just past midnight, Iron Heart was dragged from his dungeon cell. Guards marched him up the stairs of the castle, out into the street, and into the square in the middle of the shining city. Crowds lined the streets, clutching torches to light the way, their faces eerily lit by the flames. The people of the Shining City were silent, but one among them was not. For the wizard danced the entire way to the square, crowing his delight at Iron Heart’s death sentence and only a little hampered by a limp. And on the wicked wizard’s wrist, bobbing as he capered, was a white dove, tethered there with a golden chain....
—from Iron Heart
It was late and she was tired, but she still felt him before she saw him. Emeline’s heart gave a wild, joyous leap, entirely outside of her control. He was here. Samuel was here. She turned from her vanity table where she’d been brushing her hair in preparation for bed.
He stood by the door that connected her room to a small dressing room. His face was battered, his left eye swollen and black, and he held one hand against his side as if something pained him there. She stared at him, not daring to believe, trying not to breathe in case he evaporated from her sight.
“Your hair is beautiful,” he said softly.
It was the last thing she expected him to say. It made her self-conscious and oddly shy. He’d never seen her with her hair down. Never seen her in such a normal, homey setting.
“Thank you.” She set her brush down on the vanity table and nearly knocked it to the floor, her hands were shaking so badly.
He glanced at the brush. “I’ve come to say good-bye.”
“You’re leaving so soon?”
For some reason, she hadn’t expected this, either. She’d thought she would be the one to leave first, after her marriage to Jasper. But that was silly, of course. Samuel had to return to the Colonies some time. She’d always known that.
He nodded slowly at her question. “As soon as I finish my business, Rebecca and I will sail.”
“Oh.” There were thousands of things she wanted to ask him, thousands of things to say to him, but somehow she couldn’t give voice to her real thoughts. She was stuck in this awkwardly formal conversation instead. She cleared her throat. “Is it shipping business? Or the business of finding who betrayed your regiment?”
“Both.” He ambled into her room, pausing to pick up a china dish from a side table and turning it over to look at the bottom.
She swallowed. “But surely it will take weeks, maybe months to find out who—”
